The Call
by Miss Romantic Tragedy
Summary: "He knew something was off the second he walked in the door."


**Title: **The Call  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Genre**: Good ol' fashioned angst  
**Universe:** General high school human AU?  
**Summary**: "He knew something was off the second he walked in the door."  
**Disclaimer: **It does not appear that I own Len and Rin Kagamine, much less anything Vocaloid. Drat.  
**Author's Note: **Just a short story that randomly hit me in the middle of the night. I had an idea for a multi-chapter fic when I started this piece, but then this happened. Still, I think I'll continue this. I have a few ideas I'm mulling over...

* * *

He knew something was off the second he walked in the door.

Nothing seemed out of place—the door was locked, the lights were off, the house was silent. His parents were still at work, and Rin was at practice. Len dismissed the strange feeling as paranoia induced by being alone in a large, empty house. With a sigh, he slipped his shoes off at the entryway. Hanging up his schoolbag on the wall, he reiterated to himself that he was just being silly. Everything was fine. Normal.

Jeez, he was acting like Miku after she's watched too many horror flicks. Len snorted a bit at the thought, the sound coming out amused but slightly self-depreciatory.

…Still, a pervading sense of _wrongness_ nagged at him. The hair on the back of his neck stood up straight, and goose bumps prickled his skin.

Well, nothing some good ol' mind-numbing television couldn't solve.

Len ambled over to the couch and flicked the TV on. Just as he was about to flop on the couch, a shrill ringing pierced the air. The teen just about suffered a heart attack at the sudden noise. He whipped around toward the sound, nearly killing himself in the process as he tripped on the ottoman and plummeted headlong into the less-than-forgiving wood floor.

Jesus, that hurt.

After a few moments of recovery, Len gingerly picked himself off the ground. He padded to the kitchen, scowl twisting his expression, to answer the still ringing phone.

He swears, if it's just another god-damned telemarketer—

"Hello, Kagamine residence," he answered curtly, but still calmly enough not to appear less than polite.

Static filled the caller's end. If he listened closely, he could hear some faint breathing.

So, not a telemarketer. But it didn't sound like a wrong number either. Nor an accidental one—it was too quiet for that.

Maybe a prank…?

"…Hello?" Len tried again. There was still no answer. He growled, "Kaito, if this is your idea of a joke, I _swear_, I'm going to tell Miku that you were the one who messed up her leek garden. You won't see straight for a week after she's through with you."

_Still_, the other end remained silent.

So, it wasn't Kaito either. Len was done with this game.

"Fine. I'm going to hang up then." He set the phone down on the receiver with a forceful click.

A moment passed. Then a few minutes. Time seemed to drift past the boy as his irritation dissipated into a state of slight confusion.

That was… odd. And it certainly didn't help lift the peculiar mood plaguing him.

Len shook his head with a huff, returning to the living room for some well-deserved downtime.

God, how he wished he hadn't.

A dark, viscous liquid dyed the wood cherry red. The fluid painted some of the wall, the smears reminiscent of hand prints. The liquid trailed along the floor from the wide-open front door to the couch. A quickly growing puddle of crimson surrounded the couch.

This wasn't good.

Len was about to backtrack to the kitchen when a sound came from the couch.

It was a whimper.

The blond screwed up his courage, approaching the couch warily. He winced as the sticky red substance—_blood_, his mind cried out—squelched beneath his feet and between his toes. He stopped at the disturbing feeling, almost leaving the room right then. However, another groan broke the silence, spurring him yet again toward the couch.

A figure lay curled in on itself on the couch, red dripping off it to the floor. Keening, miserable moans emanated from the poor thing. The form was a study in red, stained head to toe in the precious liquid. In fact, the only color that wasn't stained beyond discernment was its canary yellow hair.

It looked just like _her_ canary… yellow…

Oh god.

_Oh god._

"_Rin!_" Her name tore from Len's throat with vigor. He hastily collapsed to the side of the couch. His trembling hands hovered over her limp form, stuck between wanting to help and not wanting to hurt her further. Faintly, he realized he was speaking—"Oh god, oh _Jesus, _hold on Rin—" but his senses were drowned out by the rushing noise in his ears and the overwhelming amount of _blood._

Shit, there was so much blood. How the hell was she still _alive?_

"Len…" The tremulous voice cut through his panic, replacing it with gut-wrenching _dread_. His mouth—which had still been running aimlessly—snapped shut. His sister—Jesus, _his sister. _She turned to Len with an intense, frightened, pleading stare. Her breathing grew shallower—_shit, _she was barely breathing as it was. And then…

And then the breathing stopped.

She stopped.

"Rin?" His voice shook, sounding as broken as she looked. A sob ripped out of him, raw with emotion.

"Rin." A statement. "Rin." A plea. "Rin." Broken. "Rin." …Dead.

"_RIN!"_

* * *

Len awoke to the sound of the phone ringing. The TV was quietly droning on before him.

Had he fallen asleep watching television? But… he could have sworn…

_Rin._

Len's body stiffened as images of her battered body assaulted his senses in full force. Slowly, mechanically, he turned his head to the cushions beside him. _Rin's still there,_ his mind swore, _still bloody, still _dead—

The couch was pristine. For that matter, the entire room was in order. Normal.

But the phone was still ringing.

Len's stomach roiled unpleasantly.

Everything was fine. It was just… just a nightmare.

The phone kept ringing.

_The girl kept bleeding_.

The roiling became a threatening churning. Len sprinted to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before he was violently ill.

The call went to voicemail.


End file.
